Poor Old Johnny Ray (Sounded Sad Upon the Radio)
by flowers-your-way
Summary: Part 2 of Come On Eileen. Sam tries to avoid his grief over Eileen's death but he can't hide forever. Thats how Dean finds him with a box full of memories strewn across his bed and the sounds of Dexys Midnight Runners filling the room.


A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! My busy life has finally let up enough for me to post another story. This is set sometime in season 12 after Eileen's death. It's a continuation of my fic _Come On Eileen_ so if you haven't read that, I would suggest you check it out. Thanks for all your love and support. Please R&R!

Xxxxxx

Sam sat in his room. Today had just been one of those days. You know, the kind where all you want to do is curl up and disappear. Sam very rarely had one of these days. And when he did, he usually suffered through it.

But today, it was all too much. Dean had left about two hours ago for a supply run across town. Mom and Cas were off doing only Chuck knows what. So he was here. All alone; well, just Sam and his thoughts to keep him company. That had always been a dangerous thing for the Winchester brothers.

So, he had tried to read but the words on the page kept blurring together. He had blinked rapidly, trying to will away the oncoming headache. He rarely got much sleep these days. With Mom and the British Men of Letters and all the other crazy shit he had endured (Really? Prison?), him and Dean had their fair share of troubles.

But that had been his life for the past, well, thirty-some years. No, this had to be something else, a much greater hurt. He had pushed those feelings aside, choosing instead to head down to the gun range. He tried not to think too much about the implications of that ( _I want to punch something in the face_ ).

However, his head had been in disagreement after only one round. So, he sat in his room. All alone, except for his thoughts. Sam pulled out his old shoebox of sacred memories and stared at them as they might explode. The cardboard felt heavy in his hands, despite the scant contents. His whole life could fit in this shoebox. Thirty plus years old and this was all he had. Sometimes he wished he could hide in this box and stay with simpler times.

But he had felt wrong for as long as he could remember so it wouldn't do him much good. Setting the box aside hastily, he needed some sort of preoccupation. Dean would be drowning in AC/DC by this point. So, Sam put his radio onto an 80s station and tried to forget. As Billy Joel sang of his sorrows, Sam relaxed. By the time Vince was belting out a rock melody, he was restless. The shoebox sat heavy on his bed and in his heart.

To depress himself further, he picked it up and gingerly removed the lid. On the top was the retirement home pamphlet. He quickly sat it aside before he could think too much about it. But despite the various contents of the box and the memories behind them, Sam couldn't keep from glancing at the pamphlet. Giving in, he took it in his hands and examined the cover.

Just as Dexys Midnight Runners snuck into the radio.

Sam nearly choked.

Suddenly he was back there again. Back on the dimly lit dance floor with drunken hookups staggering all around him. Back to a melody blending with his mind and soul, easing away his pain. Back to the glint of mischief in her eyes and the ruby red on her lips. Back to his arms holding onto her like she was a life raft and he was a drowning man.

Isn't he just that? A man clinging onto some meaning of life despite his endless sufferings. He wouldn't say that he has never had love before. There was Jess, and dad, and Cas. There was Dean.

But she had been different. She had come when he had all but lost the hope of a steady hand he could hold. She could've been the boots that walked beside his and the lips he kissed in the dead of night. He wanted to stumble over signs forever just to see the look of amusement in her face. He wanted to lay down next to her every night in silence. No, Sam Winchester hadn't believed he could ever find someone who could take all of him. But when she fought she fought fiercely and when she loved she loved deeply. There had been hope there.

Even now, he remembers where her body lay next to his as his hand glides over the sheet. He squeezes his eyes shut tight but he can still see her.

It's at that moment he hears a gruff yet gentle voice from the door that he forgot to shut.

"Hey Sammy. Whatcha listening to bud?"

And Sam, with his back turned, just shakes his head. He wants to say _Leave me alone Dean_ or _Go away,_ but he doesn't trust himself with words right now and that is definitely not what he wants to say.

He can picture Dean rolling his shoulders and scuffling awkwardly as he says, "Come on. Talk to me. You always were the one into the sharing and caring crap. Sammy?"

Sam, again, doesn't answer. He knows he cannot lie and say he's fine. He's sitting in his room listening to 80s music with a box of shit that Dean didn't even know about strewn across his bed. Thank God he's not crying. Maybe Dean won't worry too much.

He hears the quiet thump of boots cross the floor and then he feels a soft hand on his shoulder. "Come on! At least look at me man. Most people would consider themselves lucky to look at this face!"

Sam turns slowly. He can't avoid this forever. Dean's joking eyes turn serious in a split second. "Awe Sammy". Sam reaches his hand to his cheek and is mortified to feel it come back wet. He squeezes his eyes shut once more and starts to lift his hands toward his face when he feels calloused fingers grab his wrists. He shakes his head. Why can't Dean just leave him alone? "What's all this man?"

It must be something in his gentle tone of voice or maybe it's the comforting smell of gunpowder and old spice but another tear slips out against his permission. "I'm just so tired" he responds. And it's the truth. He's tired of this life. He's tired of watching the people he loves get ripped away from him.

But he speaks only half the truth and Dean knows it.

"Didn't know you had all this" Dean exclaims as rummages through the box. "What's this over here? That retirement home? Glad you're looking into our future but what makes this worth the 'Magical Mystery Box of Sammy' ?"

"The banshee hunt, Dean". He grits his teeth and tries to dampen the waver in his voice.

"Oh dude that was no walk in the park! My ears were ringing for like a week! But I will admit that Mildred was quite nice. Oh and…". He trailed off as the thought finally struck him.

"Yeah she was nice" Sam grit out angrily.

"Is that what this is about? God I feel so stupid. Come here little brother." And as much as Sam swore he wanted to fight it, he folds into his brother's arms and fists his shirt; holding on for his life. He hides his face in Dean's chest and wishes he could hide there forever.

"Shhh you're alright little brother. It never gets any easier does it? God I wish there was something more we could have done. The next time I see those sons of bitches.."

"I'll kill them first" Sam spat angrily.

"You sure will buddy. You sure will". Maybe Sam should be worried about Dean encouraging this violence but they all had reason to hate the BMol. Sam had always been the calmer one anyways.

"I just… I… I thought maybe I had finally found someone, you know, in the life. I guess I should have known better but… It was stupid anyways. She just didn't deserve to die"

Dean's eyes turns dark and he pulls Sam out to look at him. "It's not stupid Sam. This life gets hard. I always wanted some semblance of normal for you. She was good for you and she was gone too soon. I know it hurts."

At that, Sam releases a sob. Any other day he might be mortified but he doesn't know if it's his fatigue or his pounding headache but today he doesn't care. All he knows is that today he feels heavy but Dean is there, running his fingers through his hair and whispering to him like when they were young. He is losing people he loves everyday but other people have it worse. At least he has Dean to lean on while he tries to block out the image of her cold body on the metal table; her warm lively smile.

He tries not choke when Dean suggests they crack open a couple of beers and watch _Wonder Woman._

"Was always more of a Marvel fan myself" he half chuckles, even though he never had any particular preference (if anything, he was partial to Batman). The sadness is still there; it never quite leaves. The tiredness is still there. Even the headache is persistent. But so is Dean. Sam knows he isn't healed and he probably never will be but Dean is here and that is more than he could ask for.

They lay back on the bed and snap on _The Avengers_. With Dean warm and comforting next to him, Sam is out in minutes. It's the best sleep he's had in weeks. He's too tired to think of her sweet face as anything but a blessing as it flashes in his mind before he loses consciousness.


End file.
